


The Queen's Condition

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horny King Jon, Horny Queen Sansa, Jonsa Smut Week, Poor Small Council that hears it all, Post-Series, Pregnancy, Semi-Public Sex, Tormund is amused at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-01-30 22:29:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: “My condition?! You dare mention my condition, Jon Stark?!” Sansa hissed with an icy fire blazing in her crystal clear blue eyes. The small council awaited them on the other side of the door.  But surely, they would not hear anything.  “May I remind you that you’re the one that put me in this condition?"Jon noted her heaving breasts as she spoke and the way she clenched her fists into her skirts. Her delicate nostrils were flared and her full pink lips were currently pursed in displeasure. Her fiery red hair was braided to one side and her cheeks nearly matched it in her fury. She could not possibly be more beautiful in this moment.He could not resist her. He could not resist her at any time from the day he’d wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and she had given him her name. But when she was with child…with his child, he was reduced to a mere libertine. And nothing got him so aroused as Sansa when her blood was up.Luckily for Jon, Sansa felt the same about him and pregnancy only made her appetite for him insatiable.





	The Queen's Condition

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr for Jonsa Smut Week. Day 7 Prompt- Pregnancy

 

The small council of the Kingdom of the North sat at the table awaiting the return of their king and queen.

Ser Davos Seaworth, Lady Brienne of Tarth, Lord Samwell Tarly, Maester Wolkan and Tormund Giantsbane were all in attendance. Lord Brandon Stark was absent again claiming that he’d felt a tug to visit his old friend the Weirwood of the godswood. Lady Arya Baratheon had returned North to visit her family for a couple of moons while her husband did his best to rule the Stormlands without his wife’s guiding hand. But she was absent from the meeting as she preferred sparring in the yard or visiting the stables to the council chambers of Winterfell.

The silence of the council members that had descended before the king and queen had angrily retreated to the small connecting room to ‘discuss this matter privately’ had not been broken yet.

They’d quibbled over a minor point regarding the collection of taxes. Kind-hearted King Jon was often lax about enforcing the regular collection of these from their noble bannermen. Everyone had suffered in the War of the Five Kings, the War for the Dawn and the War of the Mad Queens after all.

But, Clear-sighted Queen Sansa knew that the rebuilding of the North wouldn’t be accomplished with mere promises of pay for building materials, grain, livestock and labor. Rebuilding required funds and the funds came from taxes.

Admittedly, their exchange had grown a little heated but that was no real surprise. There had long been passion between King Jon and Queen Sansa and that passion often helped fuel the friction when they quarreled. Even before they were married, long ago, when they had still believed they were half-siblings, there had been an underlying and long-denied tension between them fraught with desire and attraction that those with eyes could see.

The king’s mistake (or success depending on one’s point of view) sprung from him alluding to the queen’s condition in front of the council and suggesting it was a valid reason to abandon their debate at this time…as he appeared to be losing anyway.

“Honestly, Sansa,” he’d huffed, “I think you’re _taxing_ yourself with all this talk of taxes. It can’t be good in your condition. We mustn’t burden you unnecessarily. Perhaps you need some rest before we discuss this further. Maester Wolkan will support me in this, I believe.”

The maester’s mouth clamped shut like bear trap and his eyes were big as saucers. He would infinitely prefer to scrub out all the chamber pots in the Citadel again than be forced to render an opinion either way just now.

The poor man was saved from speaking though as the queen rose to her feet. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were pursed. She looked beautiful and majestic…and as cold as ice.

“Forgive us,” she’d said with a gracious bow of her head to the assembled councilors, “but I believe the King and I need to discuss this matter privately before a decision can be reached.”

The others had all stood and bowed in return. Her dark blue dress, sewn by their industrious queen’s own hands, rippled as she strode from the room. Only a modest swelling of her belly and breasts hinted at her condition for now but all the castle knew that Queen Sansa was nearly four moons gone with child again.

Little Prince Robb had only just been weaned a short time ago and this second child was a blessing that the entire North, young and old, the high and the low alike, was delighted by. The king and queen had an heir but House Stark longed for more youngsters to fill its halls once more. For what is the point of rebuilding your house and your kingdom if there are no children to pass it on to?

King Jon stood with the others and followed his wife after giving his Hand the briefest of apologetic shrugs. Only Tormund Giantsbane, the chosen representative of the Free Folk, had the audacity to wink at the king. And perhaps King Jon’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief and his lips twitched in response.

Ser Davos sat down with a sigh and attempted to continue the meeting. Hopefully, some other matters could be resolved before the sounds from the next room grew too loud to ignore.

 

* * *

 

 

“My condition?! You dare mention my condition, Jon Stark?!” Sansa hissed with an icy fire blazing in her crystal clear blue eyes. “May I remind you that you’re the one that put me in this condition? And, as I have already borne one healthy child with no ill effects from carrying out my duties up until the day of my confinement, I’ll thank you not to use ‘my condition’ against me in small council ever again!”

Jon noted her heaving breasts as she spoke and the way she clenched her fists into her skirts. Her delicate nostrils were flared and her full pink lips were currently pursed in displeasure. Her fiery red hair was braided to one side and her cheeks nearly matched it in her fury. She could not possibly be more beautiful in this moment.

“You may be queen but you are also my wife and your welfare is of utmost concern to me! If I fear that your duties are weighing you down or threatening the health of you or our child in any way, I will say so,” he replied brusquely, knowing how it would infuriate her.

The patriarchal North might see him as their king still but Sansa was Queen in the North in truth. He was just her consort through their marriage. He might be the lord commander of their army when war came once more but she was the one that ruled.

However, his voice and opinion were always welcomed by her. She sought his advice often and they agreed very well. She was far more suited to politics than him but they made an excellent match…both in front of their subjects and behind closed doors.

“Am I being dismissed for a nap then?!” she raged. “Shall I go to my chambers like a good little girl and await my king’s command on what decisions have been made?!”

“No one is saying that...but I know Little Robb kept you up half the night…”

“You were up as well! And once he fell asleep, you kept me up the other half of the night!”

 _Only because you have bewitched me, sweet lady_.

“And…” he said loudly at the interruption as he fought not to become livid himself. “And…with the babe growing inside of you, perhaps a nap might be for the best,” he said more softly, barely containing the smirk that wanted to reveal him.

He could not resist her. He could not resist her at any time from the day he’d wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and she had given him her name. But when she was with child…with _his_ child, he was reduced to a mere libertine. And nothing got him so aroused as Sansa when her blood was up.

 _A sharp tongue and hair kissed by fire with the softest skin and most delectable teats and…gods, I’m half hard already_.

Luckily for him, pregnancy had a similar effect on Sansa and their quarrels led to the most passionate couplings, sometimes more like animalistic rutting, that a man could ever hope for.

Not that she wasn’t an ardent lover already. Sansa was that certainly. Once they had married and once Jon had helped ease her into intimacy, doing his best to erase the past demons of her previous marriage to a living, breathing demon, Sansa was just as eager and willing in bed as any woman could well be.

But during her previous pregnancy, once her initial illness had faded and up until she grew so large as to be miserable so much of the time, her sexual appetite became insatiable. So far, this pregnancy was proving to be the same…much to Jon’s delight and exhaustion.

Sansa stood there trembling with anger at his statement…until she broke into a wicked grin.

“A nap, husband? I don’t know that I need a nap. I am a bit irritable though. Perhaps something else could… _soothe_ me.”

She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively and Jon’s cock was definitely hard now.

The little room off their council chambers boasted no more than a sturdy wooden table, a desk and six chairs. Jon ached to bend her over that table and hike up her skirts. He imagined pounding into her wet and willing cunny until she screamed his name.

The door was solid. The others would never know. Not once had they indicated by word or deed that they could hear their king and queen’s lustful cries as they found pleasure in each other after an argument during council meetings. Well, Tormund would smirk at them both but Jon knew he liked the idea of Sansa taking him down a few pegs in private.

His palms itched to take her then and there but he would be patient and wait for her to say the word.

“I long only to serve you, my queen,” he said, no longer hiding his salacious grin. “How might I _soothe_ you?”

“Barricade the door, my king,” she replied as she began unlacing the bodice of her gown.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, the harvest from the last turn yielded more grain than we’d hoped,” Davos said just as there was a loud screeching from the small connecting room as though someone were moving a heavy piece of furniture…a desk perhaps…across the flagstone floor.

 _“Hop up here, wife,”_ the king’s voice growled from the other side of the door. _“Let me taste you.”_

 _“Are you sure they won’t hear us, Jon?”_ the queen asked, clearly eager to allow her king his taste but fearing to be discovered as a wanton woman by her council.

Maester Wolkan and Samwell Tarly both tried ducking their heads down between their shoulders, rather like tortoises. They both hoped it might block out the sounds. Their hopes would be dashed though.

There was a loud bang against the door followed by a moan.

“Ahem…it appears we’ve also been blessed with a fine shipment of fruit from the South,” Davos continued.

_“Aye, sweet wife, let me see them.”_

“What fruits in particular, Ser?” Brienne of Tarth asked, a flush creeping up her neck as all of them heard what could only be the tearing of fabric through the door.

“Well, peaches for one.”

_“Gods, your teats are perfect, my beauty! They’re normally like peaches, a ripe perfect handful. But now they’re the size of…”_

“Melons…” Davos said next, clearing his throat awkwardly as the king had just said the same word. “Sweet melons and apples.”

_“You’re good enough to eat, wife. I don’t know what I want more at present; to squeeze and lick your teats or to taste your sweet cunny.”_

_“Jon…please…I want…”_

_“Perhaps I’ll just fuck you into this desk, my love.”_

_“Ahhhh! Ohhhh, Jon!”_

The connecting door shuddered and an undeniable pattern of something knocking against the door developed…a desk perhaps. A series of manly grunts and womanly sighs could be heard at regular intervals.

Those at the table tried very hard to continue talking of livestock and harvests…except for Tormund Giantsbane who sat chuckling to himself when Ser Davos mentioned the new milking cows that had arrived.

_“Jon…stop! You can’t suckle my breasts! My milk hasn’t dried up…ahhh…I’m sorry!”_

_“No matter, wife. Tis the sweetest milk. The perfect refreshment to quench your lord husband’s thirst, my queen.”_

_“Gods…oh, gods! Don’t stop!”_

The door continued its banging and Davos dearly hoped they were nearly done. He did not begrudge them their happy marriage. He was quite glad for them. And, he knew they were completely unaware that their every word could be heard at present. However, it did make for embarrassing council meetings, especially when they would return to the meeting afterwards quite disheveled but pretending nothing out of the ordinary had occurred on the other side of the door.

“Lemons have arrived from Dorne as well,” Samwell Tarly added in a momentary lull in the banging after one loud groan from their queen. His face was as red as a hot stove. “Her Grace will be pleased by…”

_“Your cock, Jon! Let me ride your cock now. Sit in the chair.”_

The banging against the door ceased and the unmistakable sound of a chair being pulled away from a table followed.

“She’ll have a dozen children if they carry on like this when she’s not already with child,” Brienne muttered under her breath to Samwell Tarly who pretended to be quite fascinated by the pattern of the wood grain in the council table.

_“Ride me, Sansa!”_

_“Oh, gods! Jon…unnn…it’s so good,”_ the queen cried out.

_“That’s it, my beauty! Scream for me!”_

The maester’s quill scratched across the page as he diligently wrote down the last instructions the Hand had given him. A high-pitched wail made his hand slip and he stifled a curse.

“No worries,” Samwell Tarly said kindly. “No use whining over spilt ink.”

 _“Sansa…Seven hells, wife! You’re so wet for me! I’m going to…”_ the king roared.

 _“Me, too,”_ the queen shouted. _“Yes, Jon! Yes!”_

“So, with that goal in mind…” Davos said, attempting to keep the counsel on task as the muffled sounds from the next room reached their crescendo.

Just then, Lady Baratheon walked into the room asking where her brother and sister were.

The group of assembled council members blinked and stared back at her like a parcel of owls….except for Tormund who was still chuckling to himself.

A final chorus of shouts and screams from the royal pair was followed by a loud groan of completion and Ser Davos scratched his beard and nonchalantly pointed her ladyship towards the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon’s cock was still pulsing out the last of his seed and he could feel his wife’s cunny milking him dry. He brushed back the hair from her face that had come loose from her braid and kissed her sweat-dampened forehead.

They both grinned at one another like a pair of naughty children and Jon helped her lace her bodice back up. When she rose off his lap, he handed her back her small clothes but said he’d want them back later.

“Do you think they heard us?” Sansa breathed as she patted her hair back in place and adjusted her skirts.

Jon was lacing up his breeches and about to say no. It didn’t truly matter to him at that moment though. His wife was radiant; glowing from their activity and the babe that grew within her and her own glorious beauty. And, he could not be happier.

But as he opened his mouth to reply, he heard a familiar voice from the other room call out, _“We heard you, alright! Gods, you’re both incorrigible! No wonder Bran says he never attends council meetings anymore! And, my sister will be pregnant from now till she’s fifty if you two are always this disgustingly desperate for each other!”_

Sansa's radiant glow disappeared in an instant as her face turned white as sheet. Jon would have to say his own normally pale complexion likely resembled a tomato as soon as Arya stopped speaking.

But they couldn’t hide in the little room forever. There was no other way out after all.

So, Jon moved the desk back to its proper place, grasped his wife’s hand and led her through the door where all their advisors were looking pointedly down at the table…except Tormund who was bellowing with laughter now and Arya who looked torn between joining him or vomiting.

“I agree with my wife on all points regarding the collection of taxes,” Jon said breezily. “And now I believe our queen needs to retire to her chambers for a good long rest this afternoon owing to her _condition_. I hope you all will excuse her. If that’s alright with you, my love?”

“Yes,” Sansa said as she gave him a devilish smirk. “A rest might do me some good in my _condition_ …as long as my king will join me.”

 


End file.
